Deception
by DreamsofSpike
Summary: Another fic in the "Leverage" series. House/Wilson dom/sub slash. Wilson has given House the rules. House, being House, immediately breaks them. How will Wilson handle it?


House awakened the next morning, a bit disoriented at first as he found himself face to face with an unfamiliar beige wall, adorned with a generic still life painting of a vase of flowers. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the surroundings, memory gradually returning to him of where he was… and how he had gotten there.

_Wilson's hotel room… Wilson's _bed_… Last night… _whoa_._

He had been lying there for about ten minutes, staring at the wall, images from the night before playing over and over again in his mind, when he felt Wilson's arm slide around his waist, heard a quiet, satisfied sigh behind him.

"Morning," Wilson whispered in his ear, voice hoarse with sleep. Then he added cheekily, with a smirk House could hear, "Honey."

Irritated – and even more irritated by the fact that he was _predictably_ irritated by Wilson's obvious attempt at irritation – House tried to toss Wilson's arm off and rise from the bed. However, Wilson was apparently stronger than he looked. The younger man kept his arm wrapped firmly around House's waist, refusing to yield his possessive grasp, holding him close to his side.

"You're not going anywhere," Wilson informed him in a soft, affectionate voice, lazy with sleep.

"Like hell I'm not," House muttered, taking the words as a challenge and renewing his efforts to get up.

His escape attempt was instantly forgotten, however, when he felt the delicious, tantalizing sensation of Wilson's soft lips, slowly moving over the sensitive skin at the back of his neck. In the suddenly changed context of the situation, the firm but painless restraint of Wilson's arm around him became erotic rather than irritating.

Almost against his will, House felt his body begin to respond to the slow, enticing attentions of Wilson's mouth. His back arched slightly as he tilted his head back, further exposing his neck to Wilson's kiss. Wilson's free hand closed loosely around House's throat, pulling him back even further as his teeth closed ever so gently over the bared skin of House's shoulder. The arm at House's waist shifted downward until Wilson's hand was cupping House's steadily swelling erection, then squeezing it slowly.

House drew in a sharp breath, anticipation overwhelming apprehension, as Wilson leaned in close to whisper, hot breath in his ear sending a delicious shiver down House's spine.

"_Now_…" Wilson rose up to press a light, chaste kiss against House's temple, before abruptly removing his hands from House's body and sitting up. "… it's time to get up."

House blinked, startled by the sudden change in tone, taking a moment to process what Wilson had just done. By the time he recovered enough to roll over and sit up in the bed, Wilson was already up and half-dressed. He sat there for a moment, resting on his hands, watching Wilson get ready through narrowed eyes, as Wilson's motives sank in for him.

_Even when and how I got up had to be on _his_ terms. He's really taking this seriously._

He swallowed hard, a fluttering sensation of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. He immediately tried to mask it with irritability.

"Asshole."

"Yeah, yeah. Get up and get dressed. You're going to work on time for once today."

House was quiet and pensive as they got ready for their day, his mind going over the various implications of everything that had happened in the last few days. Since all he had to do to get ready was to throw on his clothes from the night before, while Wilson had an exhaustive morning regimen to complete before leaving, House was ready long before Wilson – which gave him plenty of time to think.

Wilson kept a wary eye on his friend as he got ready, wondering at his quiet, subdued mood. He had expected House to be in ultra-snark mode, especially considering the fairly mean trick Wilson had played on him already this morning. Wilson wasn't sure whether to feel relief or suspicion.

When he was finally ready, he walked briskly to the side of the bed, where House was slowly rising to his feet. Without hesitation, Wilson leaned in to claim House's mouth in a slow, thorough kiss, one hand at the back of his head drawing him deeper into the kiss… and almost off balance. Wilson laughed softly against House's mouth as he steadied him, then drew back with an affectionate smile.

"Ready?"

"For the last half hour. So tell me, does your morning routine include _two_ layers of make-up or three? And what kind of straightening iron do you use on that _gorgeous_ hair?"

"Shut up."

Wilson tried to enforce the order with another kiss, but House held up a hand between them, holding him back for the moment.

"I was thinking…"

"Uh oh."

"Shut up," House echoed with a smirk. "I was thinking… if you're serious about this whole 'taking me in hand' thing… don't you think it'd work a little better if we were sharing the same living space?"

Wilson raised a single eyebrow, eyes narrowed and head tilted slightly in suspicion. "Yes," he replied in a slow, cautious voice. "Strangely, that _does_ make sense."

"Why don't you go ahead and pack up your stuff, and check out when we leave?" House suggested, holding Wilson's gaze, his own suspiciously innocent. "My place is big enough." He paused, raising both brows a couple of times in an exaggeratedly suggestive look. "Unless you think we'll be _needing_ an extra bedroom."

Wilson studied House's face for a long moment, taking a measured, deliberate step forward into friend's personal space, a cool smile of bemusement on his face. His voice was soft, dangerously even, when he finally replied.

"It's not that your offer's not… practical, and impressively generous, for you..." he began slowly. "It's just… I'm sure you realize that you'd be able to get away with so much more, by keeping your place to yourself. Why would you make this offer, when you know it's just going to limit your freedom to do as you please?"

House kept his own expression cautiously neutral, allowing a teasing smile to pass his lips as he gave a disarming shrug. "I don't know," he mused. "After last night… I'm beginning to think the benefits of such a living arrangement might outweigh the risks."

What House didn't share with Wilson was the fact that the offer was merely a pre-emptive strike – an admittedly weak attempt to maintain some semblance of control over the situation. House knew it was only a matter of time before Wilson came up with the idea on his own. He just preferred for the inevitable move to be on _his _terms, rather than Wilson's.

Wilson seemed oblivious, his cautious smile fading into affectionate acceptance as he rewarded House's generosity with a tender, grateful kiss.

"See?" he remarked as he pulled away, turning toward the dresser to pack his things. "This is working already. You're already committing random acts of generosity."

The hotel staff were stunned when Dr. Wilson actually checked out, after his pathetically prolonged stay. House and Wilson loaded Wilson's meager belongings into his car, deciding to leave them there during the day and take them to House's apartment afterwards.

When House reached to open his door in the hospital parking lot, Wilson reached across the seat to grasp his wrist, stopping him. House gave him a questioning look, and Wilson met his gaze with stern, warning eyes.

"A few ground rules to start with for today," he explained in a quiet, serious voice that left no room for argument. "Since my primary concern at this point is getting your addiction under control, anytime you think you need a Vicodin… you're to come to me and ask."

House's single raised brow was all he needed to express his opinion of that idea.

"Honors system, for today," Wilson stated with a casual shrug. "I'll trust you to do as I say. If I find out you haven't been…" His smile became an almost apologetic grimace. "… there will be consequences."

House let out a rude snort of derision, rolling his eyes as he looked away. "Yeah, 'cause you're _so _scary…"

"I _can_ be." Wilson caught his wrist again, drawing House's wary gaze sharply back to his solemn, foreboding expression. "If I have to be." Wilson paused a moment, his tone softening as he clarified, "I don't want to have to be."

House was silent, for once, at a loss for an appropriate response – or an inappropriate one, for that matter.

Wilson's tone instantly shifted, became casual again, and he ticked off items on his fingers as he added, "You might also want to check with me before taking any action that you might reasonably expect to a) give Cuddy a heart attack, b) get you physically attacked by a patient or family member, or c) cost the hospital anywhere over $100,000 in settlement money."

"Ninety-five grand, though," House observed with a smirk. "That'd be acceptable."

"Actually," Wilson countered, his expression solemn despite House's attempt at humor, "it wouldn't." He was quiet for a moment, looking House over speculatively. "Are we clear?"

House rolled his eyes again, heaving an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. "Fine. Okay."

Of course, he had no actual intention of following Wilson's rules, regardless of his promise. He didn't really have to, as long as he could make it _appear_ that he was following them.

House didn't have a patient that day, so _not_ getting into trouble with Cuddy or bringing a lawsuit down on the hospital was fairly simple. Getting away with taking his Vicodin, however, was a slightly greater challenge.

It really just came down to good acting, and a little bit of forethought.

House made a trip down the hall to Wilson's office a couple of hours into the day, poking his head around the door just long enough to ask pointedly, "Now?"

Wilson gave him a slightly incredulous look as he glanced at his watch. "Not yet," he answered simply.

House gave a token protest – because it wouldn't have been believable if he'd just accepted Wilson's decision. He then returned to his own office, grumbling all the way, before walking into the conference room, to an area not visible from Wilson's office… and promptly popping a Vicodin.

A couple of hours later, he went back again, deliberately making his limp a bit more pronounced, trying a little harder to convince Wilson to allow him to take a pill. This time, Wilson relented – and House triumphantly took another pill. This went on for the rest of the day, and House felt that he played his role very well.

At the end of the day, he was silently congratulating himself for his successful deception of his self-appointed conscience, when said conscience walked into his office.

"Ready to go?" Wilson asked. His voice was light and calm, giving House every indication that his ruse had gone off without a hitch.

"Yeah," House replied, shouldering his backpack and heading toward the office door.

Wilson stayed where he was, his hand shooting out to grasp House's arm firmly as he tried to walk past him, pushing him back a few steps and meeting his eyes with a cool, even perception that made House's stomach drop slightly. He knew, even before Wilson spoke.

_He knows._

"Just… one thing, first." Wilson was smiling, his tone and expression disarming. "Let me see your pills."

House swallowed hard, fighting back a sense of fear and uncertainty, reminding himself over and over that this was just _Wilson_; there was nothing to be afraid of. Just because Wilson thought himself to be all tough and intimidating all of a sudden did not make it so. House squared his shoulders as he reached into his pocket and took out the prescription bottle, holding it out to Wilson as he held his gaze with an air of defiance.

Wilson poured the pills out into his hand, counting them quickly – and House's heart sank with understanding. Wilson must have counted his pills that morning, while he was still asleep.

Wilson poured the pills from his palm back into the bottle as he looked up at House with a calm, false smile. When Wilson put the bottle in his own pocket, House reached out to intercept it with a cry of protest.

"Hey!" You can't just…"

House's words broke off abruptly when Wilson caught his wrist, jerking House closer to him, and the furious fire in his dark eyes made House's mouth go dry.

Wilson's voice was quiet, completely in control, as he softly stated, "When we get home, we will deal with this. There is _going_ to be a punishment. For your disobedience, and for lying to me."

House opened his mouth to respond, though he wasn't sure whether he was going to offer an apology, an explanation, or an emphatic order for Wilson to go screw himself. Neither of them would ever know what his response would have been, because Wilson cut him off before he could speak.

"Don't say anything. Don't apologize. Don't say a word until we get back to the apartment. Just start walking toward the car."

There was a tense moment during which both wondered whether or not House would obey – and then, remarkably, he did. As Wilson released his arm, House started toward the door, followed closely by his furious friend. Not sure how Wilson might react if he spoke, House wisely kept his mouth shut as they made their way to the car, and during the tense drive home as well, though his demeanor was defiant and sullen.

It was a pointless front, however; both men knew very well that he was just trying to conceal how afraid he really was.

When they reached House's apartment, Wilson insisted on bringing his things in first. House offered to help, picking up a bag and starting toward his room. Wilson immediately stopped him, taking the bag from his hand and taking a slow, deliberate step into House's space, one hand snaking up his back to rest at the back of his neck in a possessive, dominant gesture.

"No," Wilson stated in a low, dangerous tone. "I'm going to unpack… and you're going to stay here." He edged closer, his voice lowering to just over a whisper. "You're going to take off your clothes… and get on your knees, right there…" He gestured to a spot next to the sofa. "… and wait for me. I'll put my things away… and be right back."

House's breath quickened, and Wilson could feel the tense muscles of his neck and shoulders trembling under his hand, even as House raised his chin in subtle defiance.

"What makes you think I'll…"

"If you'd rather not," Wilson cut him off sharply, releasing him abruptly and picking up his suitcases, taking a pointed step toward the door. "I can go…"

"No."

Wilson stopped, turning back to face House again with a questioning challenge in his eyes. House didn't move, didn't speak again, but Wilson could see the defeat in his eyes, knew that he had already won. He moved close to House again, his hand fisting the hair at the back of House's neck this time, pulling his head back slightly as he reiterated his command.

"Undressed… and on your knees… when I get back."

Wilson took his time carrying his suitcases into House's bedroom, and unloading them into two of the four drawers in House's dresser. He deliberately prolonged the process, taking as long as possible to draw out the tension, to amplify House's apprehensions and make the punishment more effective – and also, in a vain attempt to settle his own nerves.

The simple truth of the matter was… Wilson was terrified.

He had never done this before, really, and wasn't really sure how to go about it. He was amazed that House had gone along with everything so well, so far. He was not surprised that House had defied him when it came to his Vicodin; he _was_ surprised, on the other hand, that House had chosen to stick around for the punishment. As he thought about how much his friendship had to mean to House, to be worth this sort of humiliation, Wilson felt his resolve softening.

_No… If this is going to work, you're going to have to be firm… show him you mean it… You can't back down, not now… not when things are going so well…_

Wilson's hands shook as he unpacked a wide, brown leather belt, holding it in both hands and staring at it, swallowing convulsively. The thought crossed his mind that it was a very fortunate thing that he was a doctor, and therefore able to judge how far he could go without doing any actual damage.

As he headed for the bedroom door, he steeled himself for whatever reaction House might have to his disciplinary method of choice. He expected House's derision, his immediate refusal to go along with it… expected House to laugh in his face… half-expected him to get up and walk out on the pathetic joke that was Wilson as a dominant partner.

What he didn't expect, what caught him completely off guard, was the abject terror in House's wide eyes when he saw the belt hanging from Wilson's hand. House's face visibly paled, and he looked up at Wilson through stunned, disbelieving eyes, his lips parted in an expression of shock and dismay.

"You've got to learn that you can't lie to me, House. You can't completely disregard my orders. Not if this is going to work."

Wilson slowly explained, keeping his voice carefully even and firm, despite his renewed desire to drop the belt, drop the assertive façade, drop the whole ridiculous thing and help House up off his knees. The fear in House's eyes was more than a little disconcerting. He was focused so intently on the belt, shaking his head slightly in denial or disbelief or… or pleading…

"Wilson," House whispered, meeting his eyes with something resembling panic. "You're not really going to… I mean… you wouldn't…"

"You brought this on yourself, House," Wilson stated, averting his gaze slightly, unable to remain firm while looking into House's dangerously expressive blue eyes. "You agreed to this arrangement, and you knew there would be consequences if you failed to obey the rules."

"I… I know," House whispered, staring at the belt again, and Wilson felt a strange, sick quiver in the pit of his stomach at the tremor he heard in House's stricken voice. "Just… not… not…"

"Stop talking."

Wilson forced himself to harden his voice, closing his eyes momentarily as he issued the command. He had no choice, really; if House said another word, he was afraid he would not be able to go through with this.

House was obediently silent, and Wilson walked around to stand behind him, out of his line of vision. He raised the belt in his hand, swinging it slightly, experimentally, judging its weight and thickness, and the amount of power he would have to use to leave a somewhat painful mark – a welt that would last a day or two and remind House of the reason why he bore it – without causing him any actual permanent injury.

Wilson's stomach lurched when House flinched at the sound of the leather slicing through the air. The sick feeling in his stomach intensified, and he found himself wondering at House's strange and troubling reaction.

_This isn't like him. He should be squaring his shoulders and acting like this is nothing, no matter _how_ scared he is. He shouldn't be allowing himself to show so much weakness – he _wouldn't_ be – not if he could help it…_

A vague, horrifying understanding began to form in Wilson's mind, coupled with a quiet, protective rage, as he considered the possible explanations for why the thought of a simple spanking with an ordinary belt could bring a grown man to such a state.

None of those explanations were at all pleasant.

"Wilson… _please_…"

That was it.

Wilson was undone.

"Damn it, House."

He muttered the words under his breath in frustration and concerned affection as he dropped the belt to the floor, then dropped to his knees beside his friend, instinctively wrapping his arms around him, though he knew that under other circumstances House would have immediately refused the gesture.

As it was, House was tense, trembling, neither pulling away from nor responding to Wilson's gentle embrace.

"What the hell, House?" Wilson asked in quiet bewilderment. "What's so scary about a little bit of simple discipline? I wasn't going to _really_ hurt you, you have to know that…"

House just shook his head, his eyes closed, his head lowered, swallowing hard in an attempt to control his own reaction.

"I know," he answered in a low, trembling voice. "I know… it's just…" After a moment's silence, he shook his head, unable or unwilling to explain further.

"Okay," Wilson relented, pulling House close to him again. "I'm not sure I understand, but I won't touch you with the belt, I promise. Okay?"

House nodded almost eagerly, his shoulders slumping slightly with relief.

Shaken by the troubling encounter, Wilson held him a few moments longer, though he wasn't sure whether it was more for House's benefit, or for his own. House, for his part, remained unresponsive, submitting to the embrace mostly because he felt he should, more than because of any actual comfort he was taking from it.

"But from now on," Wilson went on sternly after a few minutes, determined to salvage the situation, "_I'll _hold your pills. You want one, you'll have to get it from me."

House hesitated, before nodding slowly, reluctantly. Wilson's guilt intensified as he realized that House would probably have agreed to anything at that point, if he thought it would prevent the use of the belt; but he could see the sullen disapproval in House's downcast eyes, knew that this particular decision would certainly be a source of contention between them later on.

He paused a moment, unsure if he should go on, before adding gently, "And… you will still be punished for this, later. You need to know that. Not with the belt, because… well, I just can't see that ending well. But… somehow. I just… have to figure out exactly how." Wilson sighed, lowering his head and covering his eyes with his hand momentarily as he tried to think of the solution… and failed.

It would require more consideration than he could give it at the moment.

"For now," he continued, rising carefully to his feet, and gently pulling a shaken, subdued House up with him, "let's just have some dinner, relax, adjust…" He met House's eyes in a solemn, firm gaze that left no doubt as to his sincerity as he concluded, "But you know we're not through here, House. You still have a punishment coming for today. This is _not _over."


End file.
